In the days following my dream, I fell into a deep depression. I stood at a precipice. I could continue on, talking with our contributors and looking for clues as to the origin of this myth, or I could take a bolder step and become what it is I study; I could engage the cryptic community of Eyeless Man acolytes. Consider the obviously depraved Randy Wane, a piano tuner who lured Mark Cambria to an unclear fate, and the mysterious Z from the TV auction. These men are not alone. I long to discuss this difficult decision with Dr. Peter Gilliam, but since his experiment, he’s in a constant state of delirium and digests large quantities of psychedelic drugs, both organic and designer, in his frequent attempts to repeat his voyage. He speaks in gibberish, and I can no longer discern his truth from the delusions.
I will never forgive myself for what I have done to that man.
With or without him, I need to find my truth in this. And so I employed the help of another (who shall remain anonymous) to secure voyage into the nether regions of the Internet, what’s known colloquially as the dark web. My caffeine-fueled days led to pep pill nights, scouring boards as I worked to infiltrate the many dark ministries dedicated to the Eyeless Man. It was clear to me that since the release of Video Palace these communities have experienced intense growth.
Most people just want to know what happened, to understand how and why Mark Cambria has vanished from our world. But a very, very small subset of lurkers, quieter people, seemed to have answers. They were not creepypasta enthusiasts, folklorists or goth LARPers. They’re believers, and the Eyeless Man is their god. I’ve worked to gain access to their liturgy and their rituals, but this is a reticent group not quick to bring just anyone into their trust. When they do engage the occasional stranger, I do not understand their criteria, and I sense a predatory motivation.
There is one thread I wish to tug a bit harder. Among the slew of PDFs by theorists and ZIP folders filled with arcana, I saw a file with a name that stole my breath: The Static City by Valeray Gournay. The connection to my dream is apparent, and I’d seen this name, Gournay, mentioned among countless others.
I read through his hundreds of pages, a kind of memoir mixed with an experiment log. Living in California in the 1940s and ’50s, this scientist conducted thought-control experiments for the military and spent his off-hours in his Pasadena garage laboratory. His myriad scribbles and diagrams suggested he discovered eight frequencies during his research that had strange and counterintuitive properties. From his text, he seems to have lost his job but never ceased work in his home, until his former employers shut him down. The last entry in the scanned pages implies he feared government prosecution, but had one final experiment to conduct. There is much to study in this tome, but nothing I can share with you now. Not until my own understanding is deeper.
I have to be honest with you, my readers. This quest was driven by curiosity, a desire to expand our understanding and help to make sense of our world. That is no longer my motivation. All I think about, all I pray for, is a return to that Static City.